what a dumbshit. really? we're supposed to be shocked or titillated because you used the word pussy? (yes, you said pussy....oooooo.) yawn. this is the sort of junior highschool dear diary horseshit that bored me to tears in junior high.

nobody cares, nobody likes you, and NOBODY LIKES YOUR WEAK SUCK BLOG.

i skimmed some of your posts and fell asleep SKIMMING. yes. it was that BORING. you don't have any brilliant insights that a 8th grader couldn't figure out. and i'm not saying that to be mean, you really haven't anything to add. as mouse pointed out, "he's your doctor. don't flatter yourself."

but i'll go her one better, RE: your blog-- "you're a troll. not a writer. don't flatter yourself."

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"what a swell farewell party! we said goodbye to everything, including the lining in my stomach." - garvey, from the film, born bad

"That's one career all females have in common, whether we like it or not: being a woman. Sooner or later, we've got to work at it, no matter how many other careers we've had or wanted." --margo channing, all about eve

Today simply sucked, and the only funny thing that happened was that I showed a complete and total stranger, a complete and total male stranger, my pussy.

Yes, that's right, I said pussy. And ok, he was a dermatologist, and I was actually showing him a mole on my pussy, but I still pulled down my underwear, moved one leg to the side, and fiddled with my very pink, and very sexual-looking, labia, right in front of his face. His face, which was attached to his head, which was resting a mere three inches away on the examining table so he could get a REALLY good look at my mole. And, by default, my pussy.

It was surreal. When you have a gynecological exam, your head is kept far away at the other end of the table, far from the action, and you can kind of pretend that you're not being poked and prodded with what clearly is a rusted torture device left over from the Middle Ages; you can lie there and take nice, deep, relaxing breaths, plan your day, chat amiably with the hairy-knuckled doctor while he slides a lubed finger into your most intimate places, whatever. It's all good, because there are two feet of torso separating you psychologically from the fact that a stranger is doing things to you that you definitely wouldn't let your husband get away with, not even if he was on his best behavior for ten years and put in a swimming pool and got you a horse for your birthday.

During a regular gynecological exam you can lie there and ponder those things, you can ruminate on the idiosyncracies of life, you can philosophize, because what is happening down there has nothing to do with you, really, at least not in an emotional sense. Sure, it's your vagina that white-coated person is breezily ratcheting up to the circumference of a tree limb, but it's not really your problem. It's not any more your problem than, say, figuring out how to make those collection agencies stop calling your house 840 times a day. If it is somewhat troublesome, if it creates a little snag in your sense that all is well and good--in your sense that no, of course you are not in danger in losing your car or being gouged in the uterus with a pointy object--well, you can just ignore the whole thing. You can gaze at the mauve-colored ceiling and think pleasant, philosophical thoughts. You can take a little nap. You can plan your day.

When you're forced to participate in the task at hand, when the presence of your head and the voicing of your thoughts are required elements of the transaction, it's a whole other story. Suddenly, the stranger (whose nose hairs, by the way, don't look that different, up close, from your pubic hairs) is not just a white-coated automaton but a very real human being. He is a very real male human being who, despite being kind of short, is not altogether bad-looking. He's a little bald, but he's not nearly old enough to fit into the "benign" category, so you can't help wondering, while pulling your rosy labia this way and that so you both can get a nice good look: Woah dude--what if he's TURNED ON BY THIS???

And while he explains to you afterwards--having straightened up so he is once again talking to you while looking at your face--that the mole is probably not cancerous, the burning sensation that woke you up two nights in a row was probably due to a skin tag or a wart, you try to avoid the sight of yourself in the mirror behind him, because if you don't you'll see that the corners of your mouth are twitching and you won't be able to keep from laughing. You'll start laughing in an embarrassed, obvious way, and the secret, the badly concealed secret that he is a man and you are a woman, and your pussy was just in his face, will come out of hiding and hover there, bright and undeniable, between the two of you. And then who knows what will happen.

Ok, not to change the subject (cuz going down is a great subject) but I thought y'all would get a kick out of this...

So the steady & I are getting down & dirty this evening (I was in slo-mo grind mode) and I thought I was doing fine because she's reaching down & playing with my balls on every back stroke (which is feeling great!). After a few minutes she starts fussing to get on with the serious stuff. I said I thought she was into this and I was enjoying her hand work. She says what "hand work?". That's when I (opened my eyes &) looked back to see her cat sitting between our legs, swiping at my danglers! Good thing he was declawed! I think he was just jealous cuz his got cut off!

me too, culture (the men I get involved with loving to eat pussy) I've said it before and I'll say it again - it's a total deal breaker for me. I would seriously rethink being with a guy if he wouldn't go down, or wasn't interested in doing it and learning to be good at it.

It's not that I won't trust a guy who doesn't like to go down; I just won't waste time with them. I've dated two of them. I did plenty of oral for them, but stopped after there was very little or no reciprocation (one guy spent all of 3 minutes down there and then stopped; the other guy - absolutely nothing). If they have issues going down, then they have issues with me and I won't waste time with that. Both guys were kicked to the curb.

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I'm no model lady. A model's just an imitation of the real thing. -Mae West

well, i don't know about not trusting a dude who doesn't love to lick puss, it's a personal thing after all. i just won't get it on with him, that's all. oral is important to me, both giving and receiving. i can't stick with a dude who doesn't love getting it too (they are out there, believe it or not!).

I just have to jump in here on the old Oral debate. I do not and will not trust a guy who doesn't love to give oral. I've had one night stands with guys who don't do it but that means the end of the sex for us. I'm not a lesbian and I have never eaten a girl out but even I have sex dreams about eating pretty pussy. Similarly I find it hard to understand chicks who don't get turned on by sucking dick. It's just so damn hot!!

grrlyouwant: Anytime someone has come out with that to me mid-sex I feel like they aren't "with ME" right now, but "with" someone else. Now when I've been in a relationship with that person for a looong time, I felt like we both have fantasies about other people just cuz we've been together for so long. But if it happened with someone I was new with, or rather enjoying the thought that they were enjoying me, I was turned off. (don't know if that's exactly what *you* felt like there but I know what you mean by being suddenly 'turned off' by that for whatever reason)

Although, Obelix: I absolutely love your way of thinking in regard to sexual fantasy. It helped me to see your perspective on this, as far as the guy was concerned. And yeah, I know what you mean about having certain fantasies in my own head at times. but I'm glad I read that.